Blame it on the Champagne (Blame it on the Alcohol 1) - Page 88

“Gross.”

He laughed at my fake gagging noises. “But I was captain of the baseball team.”

“Ooooo, I bet you looked good in those tight pants.”

“I looked good in everything.”

I gave him my most deadpan stare while he waggled his brows.

“What about you? Prom queen?”

“Hardly. But I was in control of the committee and set it all up.”

“That doesn’t surprise me at all.”

“You’re not the only one who likes to be in charge.”

“I noticed how much you enjoyed riding me last night. Controlling the pace and how deep I slid inside you.”

I did. I loved sitting astride his large body while he struggled to find his own control. I’d been powerful—seen.

Between our banter and his words, heat pooled low in my belly, and I squirmed on the soft cushion of the lounger. But I didn’t want to stop. Each answer revealed a new layer to the image I’d created of Nico. He’d gone from a flat frowning drawing to a 3D image with a heart and soul, and I wanted more.

“So why start Rush instead of continuing to work with your grandpa? I mean, I can hardly imagine you not being the boss,” I teased. “You like being in control.”

His lips plucked at my nipple but quickly pulled back—just a taunting peck. “I do. And you love it.”

“Maybe,” I said, shrugging. “So, tell me.”

“Like you said, I like being the boss. I like the ins and outs of owning a company and doing it my way. And my family company wasn’t quite what it used to be.”

“Were any women involved in the company?”

“Not directly. Mom was the trophy wife your father wanted you to be, except she wanted to be. She loved it, and my father loved that she loved it. Grandma loved art and volunteered at museums to satisfy that need.”

“Was she an artist? Is that how you learned to draw?”

“Why do you think I can draw?”

“I’ve seen your doodles when you’re thinking. They’re quite good.”

He grunted a non-answer to my compliment. “No, she wasn’t an artist. More of a collector and appreciator. She performed her role of hosting events and charities, but she was whip-smart. She was Grandpa’s sounding board. She was hard when he couldn’t be and soft when he didn’t know how.”

“She sounds amazing.”

“She was. Both of them were.”

I grazed my fingers atop his long roaming ones, offering the slightest comfort, and decided not to dig for more in fear he’d shut down. Talking about those you’d lost rarely set anyone in a good mood. Instead, I moved back to the company. “What happened to your grandpa’s company?”

Again, his finger froze, and I realized this topic may not be better than the last.

“Things got hard, and the company dwindled.”

“I’m sorry, Nico. I couldn’t imagine losing my family company.”

This time his fingers pulled away completely, and I immediately missed them. Empathy had me wanting to turn and pull him into my arms, but before I could, his fingers returned—this time turning naughty and dipping beyond the edge of my bottoms.

“What about you, Vera? What made you want to do this?”

I struggled to focus when he slipped his fingers between my folds, past my clit, and shoved two deep inside.

“Ungh. I—shit.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Fuck you,” I breathed without any heat. I spread my legs and closed my eyes, trying to focus. “Like you said, it’s in my blood. I wanted to do more than charity functions. I wanted to be useful and part of this company that had dictated so much of our lives. It was my mother’s family company, and I wanted to be more involved, holding on to that piece of her.”

“It was in their family for generations, correct? How did your father get it?”

“He bought it from them. After Mom—” my words cut off when he pinched my clit. “After her, my grandfather passed, and my grandmother didn’t want anything to do with it, so she sold it to him.”

“But didn’t that go against their traditions?”

His words barely registered. I rattled off answers about how there were specific conditions in the contract, struggling to think beyond his lips grazing my nipple when he spoke.

He could have asked me to sign over my soul in that moment and I probably would have done it without hesitation. Anything to keep him going. I whimpered in need when he shifted, climbing over me and kissing his way down my body. His broad shoulders pushed my thighs wide, and he settled in, pressing his tongue against my clit before sliding down and fucking me with it. I lifted my hips, impatient to come.

“You want control again? You want to ride my face?”

“I want you, Nico.”

He bared his teeth like an animal and flipped us, settling my thighs on either side of his head. “Give me your cunt,” he ordered.

Even with him beneath me and at my mercy, he controlled it with his large hands on my ass. I gripped the back of the chair and slid back and forth across his lips, loving his scruff abrading my sensitive skin. Part of me worried I’d move the wrong way or do it wrong, but when he sucked my bundle of nerves hard, I didn’t care. The water sparkled like diamonds reflecting the sun, and it matched the spots blurring in my eyes.

Tags: Fiona Cole Blame it on the Alcohol Romance
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